So I did a recent lecture at Lehman College in New York. They recorded it and edited for an iTunes podcast and I am happy to say that it is now uploaded to iTunes!!!! Click the title of this post, or copy and past the address below to download it (sorry, but you have to have iTunes).
http://deimos3.apple.com/WebObjects/Core.woa/Browse/lehman-public.1722218477.01722218479.2062031349?i=1889428214
Happy listening!
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Speech Given to Legislators and Press in Albany--March 24th, 2009
Today, Lynn Grefe, CEO of NEDA (National Eating Disorders Association), my dad and I went to Albany to address Assemblyman Rivera and Senator Huntley. We talked about the necessary changes that need to be made in doctor accreditation (to treat EDs) and in insurance coverage for these mental illnesses. We also introduced a recent research study that shows that African American women are 50% more likely to have bulimia nervosa than white women...an important step in making the case that these illnesses cross ethnicities and socioeconomic classes. Below is the speech that I made during the course of the day:
My name is Leslie Lipton. I am an author, a speaker, an activist, a volunteer with NEDA, and, until recently, I was a student. But I am not here today because of any of those roles. I am here because I am also a person who has had an eating disorder.
When I was in ninth grade, I developed anorexia nervosa, a very serious illness with potentially fatal consequences. I am also one of the fortunate ones who has recovered from this illness--- but I know many people who have died from complications of an eating disorder (whether it be anorexia, bulimia, binge-eating disorder or a combination of a few). Indeed, it is true that no mental illness has a higher mortality rate than these disorders.
For me personally, my eating disorder took my high school years. It nearly took my college ones also. I spent the summer between ninth and tenth grade in hospital programs---being forced to eat again, regaining the weight, doing intensive therapy. In high school, my hair started to fall out---to the point where my mom had to keep drano by the shower so that she could unclog the drain every few weeks. My body went into ketosis---a process by which one’s body begins to eat itself for fuel. My bones became more brittle as I developed osteopenia. I developed amenorrhea and lost my period for nearly a year and a half. I became isolated and my personality narrowed. I lost friends and missed out on celebrations because the only things I could think about were food and calories, and how I was going to burn off what I consumed or avoid eating anything at all. I suffered physically, socially and emotionally.
I did not, however, do this because of boys or the media or over-controlling parents as we are so often so quick to assume. I was depressed and anxious and starving myself was the only way that I knew to cope with these feelings.
But as I said, I was one of the lucky ones. I got out of this disorder before it had the time to do lasting damage to my body. Most are not so lucky.
We need to change this. And we can. What we need is more awareness and prevention. We need parents or friends or teachers to be able to realize what is happening to their child/friend/student before the situation has gotten dire.
What we need are insurance companies that cover the treatment of these illnesses just like they would cover cancer or any other biological illness (because, after all, that is what we are talking about here). Though a person might be literally dying from an eating disorder, insurance companies often turn them away or cover only a tiny fraction of the cost of treatment. There are many girls and boys in this country who suffer and will die because they cannot afford the treatment that they so desperately need---and their insurance companies won’t help them. I have a friend who called me desperately a few months ago---desperate for treatment but out of options. Her parents had no money left; she had used up all her insurance company’s allowable days of hospitalization; she had searched high and low for a scholarship program that would help her fund her treatment. She was out of options; she was also eighteen years old and weighed 63 pounds at the time. It was horrible, but I didn’t have an answer for her.
We also need doctors who are aware of the signs and symptoms of eating disorders and who are then trained to treat them. My pediatrician, whom I was seeing when it first became clear that I had “food issues,” said to my mother, for example, “Just bring her in--we’ll knock some sense into her...” Clearly, this was not the way to handle a person in such a vulnerable and dangerous position. Eating disorders are not simple illnesses. Recovery is not complete when the weight is back on because these are not disorders that were ever really about the food or the weight. Re-feeding is an important first step but it is not the end. Recovery from an eating disorder is about regaining self-esteem, establishing a connection with the world again and learning to thrive rather than just survive. It is about dealing with the things that came before the eating problems ever even existed. We need doctors to realize this and we need therapists who can take recovery to the next level.
In the course of my own treatment, I have had some great therapists, but I have also had some horrible ones.
What we need to have are standards. We need to have a way of telling whether a doctor is qualified to treat that which he says he is. I have known therapists, who, never having actually suffered with the illness, still know the disorders better than even their patients. These are the therapists that impress me. These are the exception to the rule.
Personally, I have seen for “psychotherapy” a man who, as I found out later, didn’t have a degree higher than a master’s in science, much less any formal training in the treatment of eating disorders. I have had a therapist tell me that I am only an amateur---that there are people out there who are far better at starving themselves than I am. I have had a therapist tell me (the anorexic) to go on the Atkins’ diet because then I wouldn’t have to worry about gaining weight (please keep in mind that at the time I was still severely underweight). I have had a therapist tell me to lift up my shirt and look at my ribs, just to prove to myself that I was still thin. I have had therapists who spent more of my sessions talking about themselves and their own food hang-ups than mine.
And the truth is, I wish I could say that mine is an unusual case, but it’s not. When people ask me to recommend a therapist, I am often hard-pressed to do so. We need people out there with more training. Parents need to be certain, when they send their child off to someone’s office for intensive counseling, that that person knows what he or she is doing. So doctors need to learn and we need to start doing the teaching. And we need regulation---if you are going to say that you are an eating disorder specialist, then you should have something, some credential to back it up.
So I’ve told you what I think we need. But I’m also here to tell you something else today. I’m here to tell you that recovery is possible---and that’s what makes it so important that laws get passed allowing people access to treatment, and good treatment. Today, I have my life back. I am fully recovered. I don’t obsess about food. I eat when I want and what I want. I have friends, and I’m not afraid of celebrating a birthday with a piece of cake---or even two. When I was sick, I never would have believed that I would get here; I credit my success to a lot of hard work on my part but also to a really great medical doctor who was there with knowledge, understanding and expertise even when my therapists were not. I am stronger for having gone through it and I am a different person, but having an eating disorder is Hell and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. A bowl of ice cream before bed, or an Oreo, SHOULD NOT be torture, and it isn’t anymore.
The saddest part of all this, for me, is that I know what is possible for life after an eating disorder. I know that you don’t have to live in a jail with calorie counts or fat grams as your prison bars. And I know that anyone out there struggling can have what I have now...we just need to get them the help and the treatment that they need. Recovery is not an insurmountable battle. And with some help from Albany and Washington, and a lot of strength and perseverance on the individual’s part, I believe that many lives can be saved.
My name is Leslie Lipton. I am an author, a speaker, an activist, a volunteer with NEDA, and, until recently, I was a student. But I am not here today because of any of those roles. I am here because I am also a person who has had an eating disorder.
When I was in ninth grade, I developed anorexia nervosa, a very serious illness with potentially fatal consequences. I am also one of the fortunate ones who has recovered from this illness--- but I know many people who have died from complications of an eating disorder (whether it be anorexia, bulimia, binge-eating disorder or a combination of a few). Indeed, it is true that no mental illness has a higher mortality rate than these disorders.
For me personally, my eating disorder took my high school years. It nearly took my college ones also. I spent the summer between ninth and tenth grade in hospital programs---being forced to eat again, regaining the weight, doing intensive therapy. In high school, my hair started to fall out---to the point where my mom had to keep drano by the shower so that she could unclog the drain every few weeks. My body went into ketosis---a process by which one’s body begins to eat itself for fuel. My bones became more brittle as I developed osteopenia. I developed amenorrhea and lost my period for nearly a year and a half. I became isolated and my personality narrowed. I lost friends and missed out on celebrations because the only things I could think about were food and calories, and how I was going to burn off what I consumed or avoid eating anything at all. I suffered physically, socially and emotionally.
I did not, however, do this because of boys or the media or over-controlling parents as we are so often so quick to assume. I was depressed and anxious and starving myself was the only way that I knew to cope with these feelings.
But as I said, I was one of the lucky ones. I got out of this disorder before it had the time to do lasting damage to my body. Most are not so lucky.
We need to change this. And we can. What we need is more awareness and prevention. We need parents or friends or teachers to be able to realize what is happening to their child/friend/student before the situation has gotten dire.
What we need are insurance companies that cover the treatment of these illnesses just like they would cover cancer or any other biological illness (because, after all, that is what we are talking about here). Though a person might be literally dying from an eating disorder, insurance companies often turn them away or cover only a tiny fraction of the cost of treatment. There are many girls and boys in this country who suffer and will die because they cannot afford the treatment that they so desperately need---and their insurance companies won’t help them. I have a friend who called me desperately a few months ago---desperate for treatment but out of options. Her parents had no money left; she had used up all her insurance company’s allowable days of hospitalization; she had searched high and low for a scholarship program that would help her fund her treatment. She was out of options; she was also eighteen years old and weighed 63 pounds at the time. It was horrible, but I didn’t have an answer for her.
We also need doctors who are aware of the signs and symptoms of eating disorders and who are then trained to treat them. My pediatrician, whom I was seeing when it first became clear that I had “food issues,” said to my mother, for example, “Just bring her in--we’ll knock some sense into her...” Clearly, this was not the way to handle a person in such a vulnerable and dangerous position. Eating disorders are not simple illnesses. Recovery is not complete when the weight is back on because these are not disorders that were ever really about the food or the weight. Re-feeding is an important first step but it is not the end. Recovery from an eating disorder is about regaining self-esteem, establishing a connection with the world again and learning to thrive rather than just survive. It is about dealing with the things that came before the eating problems ever even existed. We need doctors to realize this and we need therapists who can take recovery to the next level.
In the course of my own treatment, I have had some great therapists, but I have also had some horrible ones.
What we need to have are standards. We need to have a way of telling whether a doctor is qualified to treat that which he says he is. I have known therapists, who, never having actually suffered with the illness, still know the disorders better than even their patients. These are the therapists that impress me. These are the exception to the rule.
Personally, I have seen for “psychotherapy” a man who, as I found out later, didn’t have a degree higher than a master’s in science, much less any formal training in the treatment of eating disorders. I have had a therapist tell me that I am only an amateur---that there are people out there who are far better at starving themselves than I am. I have had a therapist tell me (the anorexic) to go on the Atkins’ diet because then I wouldn’t have to worry about gaining weight (please keep in mind that at the time I was still severely underweight). I have had a therapist tell me to lift up my shirt and look at my ribs, just to prove to myself that I was still thin. I have had therapists who spent more of my sessions talking about themselves and their own food hang-ups than mine.
And the truth is, I wish I could say that mine is an unusual case, but it’s not. When people ask me to recommend a therapist, I am often hard-pressed to do so. We need people out there with more training. Parents need to be certain, when they send their child off to someone’s office for intensive counseling, that that person knows what he or she is doing. So doctors need to learn and we need to start doing the teaching. And we need regulation---if you are going to say that you are an eating disorder specialist, then you should have something, some credential to back it up.
So I’ve told you what I think we need. But I’m also here to tell you something else today. I’m here to tell you that recovery is possible---and that’s what makes it so important that laws get passed allowing people access to treatment, and good treatment. Today, I have my life back. I am fully recovered. I don’t obsess about food. I eat when I want and what I want. I have friends, and I’m not afraid of celebrating a birthday with a piece of cake---or even two. When I was sick, I never would have believed that I would get here; I credit my success to a lot of hard work on my part but also to a really great medical doctor who was there with knowledge, understanding and expertise even when my therapists were not. I am stronger for having gone through it and I am a different person, but having an eating disorder is Hell and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. A bowl of ice cream before bed, or an Oreo, SHOULD NOT be torture, and it isn’t anymore.
The saddest part of all this, for me, is that I know what is possible for life after an eating disorder. I know that you don’t have to live in a jail with calorie counts or fat grams as your prison bars. And I know that anyone out there struggling can have what I have now...we just need to get them the help and the treatment that they need. Recovery is not an insurmountable battle. And with some help from Albany and Washington, and a lot of strength and perseverance on the individual’s part, I believe that many lives can be saved.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Graduation: More Than Just College
I graduated last week. I'm a semester later than my high school peers, but I did it.
I also fought against being proud of myself for a long time. I told myself that it meant nothing because I didn't like college, because I didn't work as hard as I worked in high school, and because my school wasn't hard enough. I told myself that, because I didn't feel intimately attached to my college, I was a failure at the "college thing."
But the truth is, I did more than most at college. I faced more struggles than the average college kid: depression, the remnants of an eating disorder (in my first few years), anxiety, a psychopathic therapist whose grip I had to extract myself from. It wasn't always easy to get up in the morning and face a full day of classes. There were many instances when the weight of assignments threatened to pull me under. I switched therapists and had to learn to trust again.
Most kids just deal with classes. (And I had to contend with those too)
So I didn't want to feel proud. I was frustrated with my teachers from college and missed the academic rigor that I exposed myself to in high school. I didn't want to accept that I had done anything worth celebrating.
In the days leading up to graduation, it never really seemed like it was coming. I rationalized the lack of emotion by saying that I just never connected with the school. I rationalized my attachment to high school by saying that I had spent thirteen years in that school; I spent only three and a half years in college.
I graduated a semester early (given the date when I matriculated officially) but was really a semester behind--having left Johns Hopkins (my first school of choice) after only a short period of time in 2004. I matriculated for the second time in the Fall of 2005.
This all by way of saying that it finally hit me. Maybe it was when I put on that light blue cap and gown, maybe it was at dinner with my friends that night, maybe it was at the graduation party that we at the Rainbow Room this past Saturday. I'm not really sure when the change occurred, but all of a sudden I knew that I did have something to celebrate. Yes, I was celebrating my graduation and the fact that I never have to take another college class EVER, but I was also celebrating a personal triumph.
I am no longer the same kid that graduated from high school in 2004. I am stronger, braver, smarter, and more confident. For the most part, I can acknowledge that I have a place in the world--a point for my existence. I am no longer caught in the grasp of a crazy therapist. I have good friends, in reciprocal friendships. I can go out for dinner without the panic that used to set in during high school. I have published a book and found a place for myself in the professional world. I have a paying job in an economy where most of my friends have been laid off (and it's a job that I found and secured for myself). And most importantly, I know that I can take on anything and succeed.
My dad's toast to me (on graduation night) was about some of the greatest people in history had to face odds that might have seemed insurmountable. I suppose he was also saying that I faced just such odds. It probably wouldn't have surprised anyone if I just sat down and given up, but I didn't. My dad toasted me, not for the academic achievement represented by that piece of paper that I will frame and hang on the wall of an office one day, but because I got there at all. Because I met challenges and overcame them, not always gracefully, but I did it.
I may not want to celebrate the academics of my college career, but I suppose I am allowed to celebrate the triumph over the things that stood in my way. I worked hard and fought long, but I got there in the end. To that, I say, "Let's Celebrate!"
I also fought against being proud of myself for a long time. I told myself that it meant nothing because I didn't like college, because I didn't work as hard as I worked in high school, and because my school wasn't hard enough. I told myself that, because I didn't feel intimately attached to my college, I was a failure at the "college thing."
But the truth is, I did more than most at college. I faced more struggles than the average college kid: depression, the remnants of an eating disorder (in my first few years), anxiety, a psychopathic therapist whose grip I had to extract myself from. It wasn't always easy to get up in the morning and face a full day of classes. There were many instances when the weight of assignments threatened to pull me under. I switched therapists and had to learn to trust again.
Most kids just deal with classes. (And I had to contend with those too)
So I didn't want to feel proud. I was frustrated with my teachers from college and missed the academic rigor that I exposed myself to in high school. I didn't want to accept that I had done anything worth celebrating.
In the days leading up to graduation, it never really seemed like it was coming. I rationalized the lack of emotion by saying that I just never connected with the school. I rationalized my attachment to high school by saying that I had spent thirteen years in that school; I spent only three and a half years in college.
I graduated a semester early (given the date when I matriculated officially) but was really a semester behind--having left Johns Hopkins (my first school of choice) after only a short period of time in 2004. I matriculated for the second time in the Fall of 2005.
This all by way of saying that it finally hit me. Maybe it was when I put on that light blue cap and gown, maybe it was at dinner with my friends that night, maybe it was at the graduation party that we at the Rainbow Room this past Saturday. I'm not really sure when the change occurred, but all of a sudden I knew that I did have something to celebrate. Yes, I was celebrating my graduation and the fact that I never have to take another college class EVER, but I was also celebrating a personal triumph.
I am no longer the same kid that graduated from high school in 2004. I am stronger, braver, smarter, and more confident. For the most part, I can acknowledge that I have a place in the world--a point for my existence. I am no longer caught in the grasp of a crazy therapist. I have good friends, in reciprocal friendships. I can go out for dinner without the panic that used to set in during high school. I have published a book and found a place for myself in the professional world. I have a paying job in an economy where most of my friends have been laid off (and it's a job that I found and secured for myself). And most importantly, I know that I can take on anything and succeed.
My dad's toast to me (on graduation night) was about some of the greatest people in history had to face odds that might have seemed insurmountable. I suppose he was also saying that I faced just such odds. It probably wouldn't have surprised anyone if I just sat down and given up, but I didn't. My dad toasted me, not for the academic achievement represented by that piece of paper that I will frame and hang on the wall of an office one day, but because I got there at all. Because I met challenges and overcame them, not always gracefully, but I did it.
I may not want to celebrate the academics of my college career, but I suppose I am allowed to celebrate the triumph over the things that stood in my way. I worked hard and fought long, but I got there in the end. To that, I say, "Let's Celebrate!"
Friday, January 30, 2009
De-Friending: The New "F-you"
In the aftermath of this week, a good friend forwarded me this link (an article about de-friending in this new FaceBook culture):
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/29/fashion/29facebook.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/29/fashion/29facebook.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Leaving Middle School Behind
I haven't been in Middle School since 1998, and I never want to return. Middle School was the time of cliques, petty arguments, rumors, awkwardness and overall hormonal insanity. I don't know anyone who can honestly say she loved those early teen years.
But recently, I was brought right back to those days...
I "broke-up" with one of my best friends yesterday. She was talking about me behind my back (the exact words are not essential, but they center around me dragging her down and needing to "find the right happy pill"). I confronted her and she couldn't understand why what she did was wrong. Her apology was, "Well, I'm sorry that you found out." Now, the problem is not that I found out, but that she did it to begin with. My explanations fell on deaf ears. She didn't want to hear what I was saying so she didn't. Through no doing of my own, I have been de-friended on Facebook, had all her pictures of the two of us deleted, and all of my photos of the two of us untagged. I have even been blocked from viewing her profile.
It must have taken her a lot of time to do all that. I'm sorry she wasted her time.
You see, I refuse to be disappointed. The friendship ended on my terms. I lost a "friend," but she couldn't really have been much of a friend if she was willing to do what she did. I must find and focus on the silver lining.
I learned my lesson in Middle School. I was the kid that got walked on (and over) on a daily basis. I was the girl who was teased for being the "teacher's pet." I was the girl who had other girls counting the number of times she was called on in class (and keeping the tally in the back of their notebooks). And I was the girl who got shot down every time she opened her mouth in class meetings. But I was also the kid that helped those same bullies with their math/science/English/history/you-name-it homework every night on the phone. I didn't know how to say no. I didn't know that I had the right to say no. I just took whatever crap they threw at me and tried to duck fast enough.
But I'm not that kid anymore. I am not helpless. I do not think that I deserve to be treated like that. I know that I have worth--as a friend, as a daughter, as a mentor, as a student, as an activist, as an author. And I will stand up for myself now. I did stand up for myself. This time.
As I think about what I've lost, I also think about what I've gained. For once, I have taken care of that inner, helpless Middle School child. I couldn't do it then, but I can do it now. I can refuse to stepped on or walked over.
Sometimes I still have dreams about those girls from Middle School. I think it haunts me that I did nothing to stand up for myself for all those years. In my dreams, I can give voice to all the things for which I never had the words. I was meek and timid in Middle School. Back then, I thought that what I would lose would be greater than what I would gain.
The truth is: you can't put a price on self-respect.
But recently, I was brought right back to those days...
I "broke-up" with one of my best friends yesterday. She was talking about me behind my back (the exact words are not essential, but they center around me dragging her down and needing to "find the right happy pill"). I confronted her and she couldn't understand why what she did was wrong. Her apology was, "Well, I'm sorry that you found out." Now, the problem is not that I found out, but that she did it to begin with. My explanations fell on deaf ears. She didn't want to hear what I was saying so she didn't. Through no doing of my own, I have been de-friended on Facebook, had all her pictures of the two of us deleted, and all of my photos of the two of us untagged. I have even been blocked from viewing her profile.
It must have taken her a lot of time to do all that. I'm sorry she wasted her time.
You see, I refuse to be disappointed. The friendship ended on my terms. I lost a "friend," but she couldn't really have been much of a friend if she was willing to do what she did. I must find and focus on the silver lining.
I learned my lesson in Middle School. I was the kid that got walked on (and over) on a daily basis. I was the girl who was teased for being the "teacher's pet." I was the girl who had other girls counting the number of times she was called on in class (and keeping the tally in the back of their notebooks). And I was the girl who got shot down every time she opened her mouth in class meetings. But I was also the kid that helped those same bullies with their math/science/English/history/you-name-it homework every night on the phone. I didn't know how to say no. I didn't know that I had the right to say no. I just took whatever crap they threw at me and tried to duck fast enough.
But I'm not that kid anymore. I am not helpless. I do not think that I deserve to be treated like that. I know that I have worth--as a friend, as a daughter, as a mentor, as a student, as an activist, as an author. And I will stand up for myself now. I did stand up for myself. This time.
As I think about what I've lost, I also think about what I've gained. For once, I have taken care of that inner, helpless Middle School child. I couldn't do it then, but I can do it now. I can refuse to stepped on or walked over.
Sometimes I still have dreams about those girls from Middle School. I think it haunts me that I did nothing to stand up for myself for all those years. In my dreams, I can give voice to all the things for which I never had the words. I was meek and timid in Middle School. Back then, I thought that what I would lose would be greater than what I would gain.
The truth is: you can't put a price on self-respect.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Gratitude
It has been an interesting holiday season. I have had my disappointments, reconnected with old friends and lost new ones. I have been scared for my health and had two MRIs of my brain. Things might not have worked out the way that I would have planned, but in the words of motivational speaker Les Brown, "Just because Fate doesn't deal you the right cards, doesn't mean that you should give up. It just means you have to play the cards to get to their maximum potential."
I must believe that everything happens for a reason--every bit of suffering, every disappointment, every moment where we pause to wonder what the world really has in store for us.
It hasn't been an easy couple of months--that's for sure--but there are still many things that I am grateful for. And if I pause to look at those things, everything seems so much better.
I am grateful for:
I must believe that everything happens for a reason--every bit of suffering, every disappointment, every moment where we pause to wonder what the world really has in store for us.
It hasn't been an easy couple of months--that's for sure--but there are still many things that I am grateful for. And if I pause to look at those things, everything seems so much better.
I am grateful for:
- The moment of silence on the top of the mountain. The moment before I dig my poles in and take off. That moment of calm and serenity.
- The feeling of my cat's fur when she lies beside me at night.
- My parents.
- My friends--new and old. The reciprocal relationship of friendship.
- The feeling of galloping around the ring with my horse beneath me.
- Hope.
- The uninhibited laughter of children.
- Health.
- The soft, smooth feeling of the pages in a book.
- The memories of past experience--those that are only my past, those that determine my now, and those that will shape my future.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Secrets in Plain Sight
I think I have a secret. I don't mean to have a secret but I think I have one nonetheless.
Are you ready? Here it is:
Recovery is possible. It's hard. But it's possible.
A student at a high school told me last week that recovery wasn't possible. She told me that, because she had never seen someone who had completely recovered, I couldn't be. I told her she was wrong.
I don't know how to explain that difference between "in recovery" and "recovered." I've tried multiple times, in different ways (I'll save that for a later post), but the only thing I know for sure is that I have turned the corner and am no longer "in recovery." I am RECOVERED.
I have too many friends who suffer. I write this post for them. I want them to know that it is possible. I don't want to lose my friends to an eating disorder, especially when recovery could be right around the next corner for each one of them. It will never be enough to just hope for recovery; it has to be an active process. But if you work for it, you will get there. They will get there.
The problem, as I see it, is that not everyone can pay for treatment. I was fortunate---my parents were able to provide me with the best doctors and the best care. But not everyone can do that. In a world of HMOs and insurance companies, too many people go without the care that they desperately need because they simply can't afford it. I want to save the world. But the world might be a lofty goal. Maybe I can just save a few individuals.
I have to think about the way to do it. Maybe it's a foundation that provides scholarships for treatment (there are too few scholarships out there). Maybe it's just by talking at schools the way that I have been doing. Maybe it's about sharing my secret. I'll start with just one way. I say it again: Recovery is possible.
There it is. I guess now the secret's out...
Are you ready? Here it is:
Recovery is possible. It's hard. But it's possible.
A student at a high school told me last week that recovery wasn't possible. She told me that, because she had never seen someone who had completely recovered, I couldn't be. I told her she was wrong.
I don't know how to explain that difference between "in recovery" and "recovered." I've tried multiple times, in different ways (I'll save that for a later post), but the only thing I know for sure is that I have turned the corner and am no longer "in recovery." I am RECOVERED.
I have too many friends who suffer. I write this post for them. I want them to know that it is possible. I don't want to lose my friends to an eating disorder, especially when recovery could be right around the next corner for each one of them. It will never be enough to just hope for recovery; it has to be an active process. But if you work for it, you will get there. They will get there.
The problem, as I see it, is that not everyone can pay for treatment. I was fortunate---my parents were able to provide me with the best doctors and the best care. But not everyone can do that. In a world of HMOs and insurance companies, too many people go without the care that they desperately need because they simply can't afford it. I want to save the world. But the world might be a lofty goal. Maybe I can just save a few individuals.
I have to think about the way to do it. Maybe it's a foundation that provides scholarships for treatment (there are too few scholarships out there). Maybe it's just by talking at schools the way that I have been doing. Maybe it's about sharing my secret. I'll start with just one way. I say it again: Recovery is possible.
There it is. I guess now the secret's out...
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Finally, It Is Time
I'm not sure how to begin...
I've been thinking about this for days, but haven't come to any conclusions. I've reworked the title of this blog a million times. I've started and deleted more posts than I can count. But finally it is time. I will not delete this post.
I can't for the life of me understand why bad things happen to good people. Why do we suffer needlessly? Why do we run out of money when we most need it? Why do men discard women like we are possessions---to be used and then thrown away? Why don't we (they) notice it when we (they) have it so good?
And why can't I save the world? Even with all of my best intentions and idealism, I cannot change the way things happen.
I was at the NEDA (National Eating Disorders Association) annual Gala Friday night. It was a wonderful night of dinner and dancing and awards. Dr. Cynthia Pegler got the medical contribution award. Zina Garrison, Olympic gold medalist, got the lifetime achievement award. And Allison Kreiger got the Youth Advocate award. It was an evening of community, caring and philanthropy. We were united against eating disorders. We were working toward the NEDA Mission of "a world without eating disorders." I don't know if I will ever see that day, but I will work hard to get there.
The work that NEDA (and other organizations like it) does is vitally important. It saves lives. But there is still work to be done. As long as eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness, there will still be work to be done.
We need scholarship programs to provide people with treatment even when they don't have the money or insurance coverage to pay. We need more helplines. We need more prevention and outreach programs. We need more people fighting for themselves in this life or death battle.
Basically, we need so much. I don't have the answers on how to get it. All I can do is point out the need and hope that one day we will get there.
I've been thinking about this for days, but haven't come to any conclusions. I've reworked the title of this blog a million times. I've started and deleted more posts than I can count. But finally it is time. I will not delete this post.
I can't for the life of me understand why bad things happen to good people. Why do we suffer needlessly? Why do we run out of money when we most need it? Why do men discard women like we are possessions---to be used and then thrown away? Why don't we (they) notice it when we (they) have it so good?
And why can't I save the world? Even with all of my best intentions and idealism, I cannot change the way things happen.
I was at the NEDA (National Eating Disorders Association) annual Gala Friday night. It was a wonderful night of dinner and dancing and awards. Dr. Cynthia Pegler got the medical contribution award. Zina Garrison, Olympic gold medalist, got the lifetime achievement award. And Allison Kreiger got the Youth Advocate award. It was an evening of community, caring and philanthropy. We were united against eating disorders. We were working toward the NEDA Mission of "a world without eating disorders." I don't know if I will ever see that day, but I will work hard to get there.
The work that NEDA (and other organizations like it) does is vitally important. It saves lives. But there is still work to be done. As long as eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness, there will still be work to be done.
We need scholarship programs to provide people with treatment even when they don't have the money or insurance coverage to pay. We need more helplines. We need more prevention and outreach programs. We need more people fighting for themselves in this life or death battle.
Basically, we need so much. I don't have the answers on how to get it. All I can do is point out the need and hope that one day we will get there.
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